Lover
by bloodandpepper
Summary: "Everything is going to be fine, hear me..." These words were never meant to be said, but when Rukia's small hand clasps my shoulder, I realize that I must have spoken them aloud.   IchiIshi
1. everything is going to be fine

I wish there was a moon out there, sending its milky rays of light down to guide my way through the dark maelstrom of rain pouring down on me.

My sight is blurred as I run like I've never ran in my life before — following the violet gleam right in front of me. Its wings flutter a weightless path, uncaring of the storm howling around us, but with a clear aim in its mind. Raindrops create a pearly hue around him, and he is the beacon I follow so desperately. My clothes cling to my skin uncomfortably, but I'm only dimly aware of this. I need to be faster.

"Hurry, Ishida!"

Rukia's stern voice is ringing in my ears.

"I need your help!"

And if you know that, woman, you know that pleading like that means something close to a catastrophe has to be happening. I double my speed, running through deserted streets, urging myself forward faster and faster.

My otherworldly guard vanishes in something that has to be a dark backyard, and I come to a halt rather abruptly. I glance around, standing there frozen to that very spot. The rain still comes down in gusts, my blood singing in my ears and I'm not able to draw in the breath I need too so badly.

There are two figures crouching on the pavement. One is busy giving shelter from the rain — while the other one lays motionless. A shout rings through the night and suddenly, suddenly I'm drinking in the severe situation right in front of me… Rukia screaming at me to hurry over while she cradles him in her lap.

Him.

His normally so bright hair is plastered in dark strands to his forehead and his breathing comes out in uneven gasps. His face speaks of wordless pain.

It feels like something is creeping up my spine, I don't have the time to realize that it has to be fear as I stumble forward. Rukia is still yelling, but my head is an empty shell that doesn't register her words. She clutches his right side and through the torn remnants of his shirt, there's black liquid slowly seeping its way to the ground.

He's bleeding.

"God..." It doesn't sound like my voice but it has to be, I can feel my lips moving while I slip out of my soaked sweater. "Hold him up," I instruct her, twisting the cloth around his midsection, tying it in a firm knot. It's a lousy compression bandage, but it has to do for the moment. The light fabric gains dark stains fast and there's that biting feeling again, reaching for my throat this time.

"Urahara's."

This word is enough to shake me from my trance and I glance up, searching Rukia's eyes. There's an undying determination in them that I have to give her credit for it. I nod silently. His head lolls on her shoulder and her arms hold his body in place securely. Like a mother would hold her child: with care and worry… there's so much trust in that simple gesture. 'Not like a woman would hold her lover' my mind is whispering and, despite all circumstances, I have to smile faintly. Not as a lover.

"We have to move him carefully."

She says as I get to my feet and pull his arm over my shoulder slowly while Rukia firms her grip on his unwounded side. He's heavy and I wish for Chad's strength, but somehow we will manage. We have to.

We fall into flashstep easily and the world is a blur of water and dark colors again. I strain my ears to hear his breathing, his heartbeat...anything, but there's nothing but the wind howling along with our steps. 'Don't dare to die, everything is going to be fine' is the unspoken mantra I repeat in my mind over and over again.

After what has to be a millennia, the dim lights of Urahara Shouten come into view and, again, I hear Rukia yell with all she's got. There are lamps blinking and doors shifting as the well-known figures appear at the threshold, wiping away sleep and raindrops. There's one moment of silence and immobility — until a second later the world decides to step into motion again with a lot more shouting and shifting.

But finally he's safe, they will help him. He's laying there in the makeshift bed on the floor, torso exposed, while Tessai's bulky frame hovers over him. Everything is going to be fine.

"These are no injuries caused by Hollows..." Tessai states in a worried voice. "No, they aren't."

My gaze focuses on Rukia, who starts to gnaw at her lower lip while she looks to the ground, worry clearly etched on her features.

"He got into a brawl with some guys. One kicked him through a window...I guess the glass cut him open like that."

When she looks up again, she searches my eyes, as if to apologize to me.

"Sorry, I came too late."

I open my mouth to answer, but Tessai cuts me off.

"My Kidou heals spiritual wounds, but..."

His sentence trails off, and again, there's that chill that crawls over my skin.

"Earthbound injuries need earthbound treatments," Urahara finishes instead. "And we can't wait till Inoue arrives here."

"No, we won't wait," I hear myself saying. Everyone's eyes are trained on me, but it's him I'm looking at. I kneel down by his side, running my palm over his forehead softly, stroking the strands away that cling to his damp skin. '...as a lover...' a voice in the back of my mind murmurs.

He's so pale as he shifts in pain, slipping in and out of consciousness. The bleeding has stopped, but two long gashes are running in angry open lines over his belly. They aren't that deep, but are in dire need of treatment, he's lost much blood. "Everything is going to be fine, hear me..." These words were never meant to be said, but when Rukia's small hand clasps my shoulder, I realize that I must have spoken them aloud.

She gives me that look again, full of worry and guilt, but I know what I have to do now. I take her hand gently off my shoulder without breaking eye contact. "If they can't help him, I will," I whisper, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out a small case. There's everything I need: Three types of fine steel needles and some threads in black and white. After all, if there's one thing on earth I can perform like no other, it's sewing. Only this time, I'm not patching up some old plush.

Rukia is handed a glass with a milky fluid and, by lifting his head, she forces it down his throat, gulp for gulp.

"Painkillers," Tessai states simply at my questioning look.

Mending torn pieces is such a meditative process. I enjoy it so much under normal circumstances — but nothing is normal here. I work quickly, but precisely, stitch after stitch. It has to be done. Everything is going to be fine. It's funny how these words never fail to keep me from thinking anything else.

I don't know how long I've been working, but when the last move is done, I look up to examine his face. It's peaceful now and his chest heaves with each even intake of air. My own hands are shaking now that the tension leaves my body slowly; taking a calming breath seems so incredibly hard to do.

"Hey..."

Rukia's voice is like the main refrain in a three act drama unfolding right in front of my eyes, I have no words for how thankful I am for that.

"You okay?" she asks.

I want to answer with all my eloquence, try to put up that façade I have gotten used to over the years, but all I manage is a cruel half-smile and a curt nod. For a moment she looks like she is about to comment on my reaction, only to change the topic.

"He looks so vulnerable laying there like this..."

Again I drink in his form. Yes, he does. And he would hate it with every fiber of his being. But with his ever permanent frown gone due to the pills, he really looks like another person. Fragile. Delicate. Beautiful.

Securing the bandages is the last task and, while I'm holding his body up, it's Rukia who wraps the fabric around him carefully. As soon as she's finished, I let his body sag against mine and she sits back on her haunches, looking over at me with an unreadable emotion shining in her violet eyes.

Finally, an honest smile graces her lips and it reaches her eyes too. "You hold him like a lover would," she remarks in a small voice.

I'm glad the others are gone by now, because I'm searching for an appropriate answer with my mouth hanging open like I'm a stranded carp.

But then I come to realize, that it wasn't a question, but a matter of fact. His hair tickles my chin and I can feel his warm breath ghosting over my collarbone. My arms circle his upper body and his solid weight rests against me while I hold him close.

I have to close my eyes as I lean back a bit to rest against the wall behind me. I have never felt so exhausted in my life before. "Lover, huh?" The word rolls off my tongue strange, but easy. "Sounds nice..." I hear her feet tapping over the hardwood floor then the lights are switched off.

"Good night, Ishida" she mumbles before the door closes slowly.

I welcome the silence surrounding me, engulfing us both. I listen to his heart beating and it lulls me into sleep. "Lover," I say one last time into the pitch black darkness sheltering us.


	2. winter is coming

I'm caught between sleeping and waking. The tendrils of my dream are still floating around me and my eyelids feel like they are made of lead. But I don't need my sight: there are other senses that are already wandering.

It's raining outside. There's that faint though unmistakable pit-patter against the window that makes me curl up against the warmth around me. This steady heat feels like garden Eden, like endless sun and wind, all in one. It makes the rain a contrasting reminder of a colder world, a world I don't want to return to. A sky, tipped into an odd angle, and gravity defying buildings are flashing through my mind. No, I don't want to go back, I don't want to, don't...

I wake with a start, and a pain is shooting up my side as if I've been grazed by a lightning bolt. I cringe, trying to breathe the ache away and suddenly there are arms that encircle me, firm hands easing me down again.

"Idiot, lay down," a sleepy voice mutters, but there's a steely undertone in it, that doesn't accept a 'no' as an answer, so I let myself be guided unwillingly.

A calming hand strokes my hair and there are words uttered that would make sense if I wasn't so damn focused on that searing pain. But slowly it ebbs away, leaving me shivering, drawing in ragged breaths, while tears are drying at the corners of my eyes.

What a herculean task opening one's eyes can be –and when I finally do I'm greeted by the sight of a window, peeking out between half-drawn curtains. My ears weren't betraying me: it's raining. Clouds are racing over an ash colored early morning sky and the treetops ar e stars in that wild dance the wind has set upon them. Winter is coming.

The fingers in my hair never stopped their silent seesaw and I begin to inhale his scent. He smells like earth: spicy, herbal, clear. I knew it was him long before he uttered a word; his unique fragrant gives him away. There are times when I am able to detect him in a crowd of people due to his scent, like I'm some bloodhound solely trained on tracking him. That's my concept of being 'romantic', I guess.

My eyes fall shut again and I bask in the feeling of being touched so gently. It's a rare treat for both of us - we don't let our guard down easily, but in that grey area surrounding us something like that is possible for a moment and I plan on enjoying it to its fullest.

"You were reckless again."

Trust him to burst my bubble when I was about to get comfortable. That's so... him. I grunt in response, unwilling and unable to form something more coherent on my tongue. I shift - carefully this time - until my head is resting in his lap.

When I look up, I meet his eyes directly, he's bending over me. What the October sky outside lacks is encapsulated by the cerulean kaleidoscope right above me. There are fragments of lapis and aquamarine and a dash of alexandrite, all mingled together into a song that celebrates the truest meaning of 'blue'.

There are so many things unspoken between us, but one sunny day I'm going to tell him about the blue melody that his eyes are made of. How sappy. No, I won't do that; he will laugh and call me a freak. And there are other, more urgent things that need to be said beforehand. But however clear they may appear in my mind, they never make it to my lips in the same form. I'm no man of words.

Slowly I reach up to touch his face. My fingers trace down the sharp line of his jaw till I grasp his chin in a loose hold, stroking my thumb over his lips softly. I smile when he gulps, the heat rising on his cheeks.

"You really are an idiot...," I hear him say with a sigh, right before he bends down to me. His left ghosts over my exposed throat and his lips hover for a moment right above mine, as if to breathe in my air, until he finally closes the remaining space to fulfill what he had started.

Words are so overrated. Really. And now that I think about it, breathing too. I should recede from thinking anything altogether. This is another moment to just feel and...cherish what I have.

He is such a complicated being. But at least I'm getting better. Better at kissing. At reading his body language. At detecting the words behind his words.

When we part, there's finally enough daylight illuminating the room for me to notice the dark circles below his eyes and the tired slump of his shoulders.

"You look like shit."

He utters a shaky laugh - something between exasperation, genuine amusement and pure frustration. What a mix. He rakes a hand through his hair out of habit and gives me his trademark piercing stare.

"Look who's talking."

Maybe he's got a point there. If I look like how I'm feeling right now, I must resemble a zombie fresh out of some trashy B-movie. There's a dull pulsing ache in my side and my whole ribcage feels like an abused punching ball. In hindsight maybe it had been exactly that, but at the moment I refuse to think about it.

"If it weren't for Rukia, you would probably be dead."

Right. Rukia. I dimly remember her being there, dragging me out of that battlefield of broken glass. I've lost count of how many times the midget princess had saved my sorry ass by now. First saved it - and then kicked it. I have to smile inwardly at how some things never seem to change –and how I am to about to receive my fair share of ass-kicking later for sure. I want to joke about it, but when I look up at his face again, the words die in my throat.

Lost in thought, he gazes out the window at a point far away, brows drawn together and his mouth a thin and bitter line. He doesn't turn his head towards my direction when he begins to speak in a voice that is more of a murmur than anything else.

"...why do you have to be like this, rushing into trouble without a second thought? It could have been too late to..."

Save me.

The last words are almost audible when he refuses to bring the sentence to an end, letting them float in the space between us; to separate us even though we are this close. I want to be angry at him - I haven't asked for anyone to save me - but the look of utter defeat shown on his features silences me. Never had he looked like that upon the countless battlefields we have stood on together. No opponent had ever been able to force him to surrender like that.

No one but me.

"That's the way I am... that's what I am." I can't come up with any other answer, I can't promise him anything, I won't bend into something that isn't me - even for him. Especially not for him: it's the duality, the contradiction that is 'us'.

"I'm sorry." Now my words are a mere whisper. "Guess I really am an idiot."

And there it is again: that tiny smile I have secretly hoped for. The smile that tells me I've been forgiven. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes are back on me and his left hand is now resting right above my heart, fingertips slowly stroking small circles on my skin.

The rain is still pouring down and the wind howls his crescendo: winter is approaching soon, but I couldn't care less. For a moment the world is a nutshell that contains just the two of us: full of contrasts and opposites and unspoken words.

But I wouldn't want it to be anything else.


End file.
